An Tiarna Dubh
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Is minic a bhris beál duine a shrón ~ It is often that a person's mouth broke his nose
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Post by An Tiarna Dubh on Jul 28, 2021 10:51:58 GMT -8
My oh my, you sure are on a roll here
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Bey Kahn
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Post by Bey Kahn on Jul 29, 2021 8:03:15 GMT -8
OOC: Well there is quite a lot to flesh out. It's a bit of a struggle to get into the Mandalorian's mindset since I've never actually RPed one before, but I think if I keep smoking a ton of cannabis inspiration will inevitably hit me. That's my plan anyways, lol.
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Bey Kahn
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Post by Bey Kahn on Jul 29, 2021 8:31:44 GMT -8
Location: Porkswine Village - Sloan Skirata's Yurt
Bey was too stunned to speak, though to be fair it felt like he was still invited to be silent at this point. The young boar sat and listened, his anger giving way to further curiosity and even a mild degree of surprise. Don't misunderstand. Given the chance to put a spear through the metal man's throat, he would do so in a heartbeat; however, he wanted to know more about what brought this outsider to their world. Maybe in the knowing there was some weakness to be found and later exploited. The young boar kept his mouth shut and let the new warlord continue.
My people come from another world, a planet scarred by centuries of war. We call it Mandalore. I originally came here to claim a bounty... He paused, thinking of another way to describe his purpose here to one so primitive. Or rather, to hunt after enemies of my people. My ship was damaged. You will recall the flaming wreck where your people first engaged me. That's all that remains of my vessel. It is well beyond my ability to repair; no doubt well beyond the ability of your people as well. Which means I'm stuck here.
Sloan rose from the chair he had been seated upon and walked around the inside of the yurt, taking note of the weapons and trophies that adorned the living space. There were skulls of wild beasts, all manner of stone spear and axe, furs heaped upon furs. He continued his monologue, driven by a desire to share his story.
However, just because I'm stuck doesn't mean I'm ready to die. If this is where I am to remain for now, so be it. I killed your father in fair combat. It wasn't my intention, but it happened, and by your laws I am now the chief...pig. He lingered on that last word just a second longer than was necessary. There will be some changes around here. I will teach your people my ways. I will teach YOU, my ways, if you decide to stay. Your people proclaimed me your leader, and lead I will to the best of my abilities.
There was some of which the new warlord spoke that Bey rightfully didn't understand. This talk of vessels and ships for instance, went well above his limited knowledge. The message though, that he did pick up on. This man intended to stay and lead them. His father's murderer wasn't going anywhere.
Good.
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Bey Kahn
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Post by Bey Kahn on Aug 1, 2021 5:47:34 GMT -8
Sloan was tired. Between the fight to the death and the days events, he barely had the energy left to remain on his feet. Yet it felt important for him to stand tall before the young boar sitting in 'his' tent. This pig was the same age as a lot of the foundlings that were adopted in the Mandalorian ranks. He wasn't much older than Sloan had been when he had been taken in. He also knew that look in the eye of the adolescent gamorrean. There was a lot of anger in those eyes, directed at him for killing his father. Sloan had seen that look in enough kids eyes to know exactly what it was. Over the years he was sure he had left a whole host of orphans spread throughout the galaxy. Before he'd never stopped long enough to think about it, moving on one job after another. Here, however, all he had was time to consider his actions. Maybe he wasn't the noble warrior he had thought himself to be. Maybe he was nothing more than a murderer. There was silence in the yurt, the only sound the crackle of the fire in the center of the living space.
Perhaps it was time for him to be better. Perhaps this was an opportunity for him to do the right thing for once in this god forsaken universe. If the boy would have him, he would raise him in the Mandalorian custom, or as close to that as he could on such a primitive world. He might not be able to take him on bounty hunting jobs, but he could at least teach him how to fight. If after that the young boar decided to take his life with that knowledge, well, maybe that was fair. Maybe it was just.
The metal man's helmet speakers spoke. What's your name, kid?
Still seated, the grief stricken boar met the Mandalorian's challenge and answered.
"Bey Kahn".
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Bey Kahn
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Post by Bey Kahn on Aug 2, 2021 19:23:36 GMT -8
Bey Kahn. Said Sloan, repeating the odd sounding name. Was it odd though? Perhaps to him, but he was a learned man among savages. No doubt his own name sounded equally unusual to them. Sloan Skirata. He said in return, bringing a hand to his chest to make it obvious he was sharing his own name.
There was a glint in the young gamorrean's eyes. Now he had a name for the outsider who had killed his father. Good, he would remember that name for the rest of his days. If only he knew now just how true that would be, though for reasons yet unknown to him.
That glint had not gone unnoticed by Sloan, though there would be no way for young Bey to know that since the Mandalorian was still clad from head to toe in his armour. He scowled beneath his helmet. This kid better not try anything when he was sleeping, assuming he'd even be able to catch a wink. Still, he was damned tired.
Get some sleep, kid. I'll be addressing your village tomorrow. There are going to be a few changes around here.
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Bey Kahn
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Post by Bey Kahn on Aug 4, 2021 6:50:43 GMT -8
Location: Porskswine Village - Home of Clan Murtog
Night eventually gave way to day, the light of Pzob's green sun casting its brilliance on the village in the forest. The boars and sows of the clan gathered in the main square, with little piglings running between them as they played and burned off youthful energy. It seemed as though the whole village had come together to listen to what their new warlord had to say.
When Bey awoke in the morning he noticed that the yurt was empty. Sloan Skirata must have already gotten up and left before he woke up. The young boar sat up and pushed off the heavy furs he used as blankets. He rubbed the fatigue from his eyes and got up, walking over to the cooking fire in the centre to warm himself. What time was it? He paced towards the entrance of the yurt and threw the hide skin flap back, squealing as bright rays of the sun threatened to blind him. He squinted until his eyes adjusted.
Ooops. He had slept in. Cursing under his breath, Bey Kahn tossed on his sandals and began to hurry towards the village square. As he drew near he could hear the sound of squeals and snorts, intermixed with synthetic static as Sloan Skirata's helmet speakers played at full volume. The young boar arrived just in time to hear the human address the clan.
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Bey Kahn
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Post by Bey Kahn on Aug 5, 2021 6:52:50 GMT -8
Sloan stood in front of the gathered villagers, surveying all that was his now to command. His helmet moved from side to side as he did a mental count on the amount of boars versus sows and what that meant for the forces he would lead. There were already some obvious differences between their two cultures. The gamorreans were a hunter/gatherer society. The males, referred to as boars, hunted for meat and conducted matters of tribal warfare against the other clans, while the females, referred to as sows, gathered fresh produce from the forest and performed the vast majority of the work inside the actual village. That would need to change. In the Mandalorian culture there was no difference between a man and a woman, save perhaps the shape of their breastplate. Both were expected to fight, to learn the warrior way, and die in combat if that was required of them. Leaving half of your combined force out of a fight was simply wasteful. He looked beyond the villagers to the outskirts of the village itself. They were penned in by the forest, but there was nothing between the trees and the huts the gamorreans lived in.
That too would need to change. With all this wood available they could at least raise a palisade wall and mount some wooden spears to protect against a calvary charge. Actually, did any of these pigs even have mounts? That was another thing he'd have to figure out. Still, they could do with a moat or some form of trench around the village. Many changes would need to take place.
When it seemed as though the whole village was present, Sloan stepped forwards on the raised platform he was using as a dais. He set the volume control of his helmet to maximum and began to speak, pausing to allow his helmet translator to keep up with everything he had to say.
Greetings, warriors and women of Clan Murtog. Yesterday you proclaimed me warlord of your clan, after I killed your last warlord in fair combat. He withdrew his beskad from its sheath and held up the sword for all to see. Rays of light shone through the forest canopy and reflected off its polished surface. My name is Sloan Skirata, but you will address me as Warlord Sloan. As for my first order of business, you are no longer members of Clan Murtog. That clan died along with your last warlord. You are all a part of my new clan now, Clan Skirata.
It seemed a little sacrilegious to call this pile of pigs by the same name as his own family clan, but since in all likelihood he was stranded here without any hope of rescue, he didn't see the harm. Besides, he had plenty of time to transform this primitive lot into something true members of his clan could be impressed by. Or so he hoped.
Many squeals of protest could be heard throughout the gathering of villagers. They had been going by the name Clan Murtog for so long, none knew what this change in name meant. It had never happened before in their history. Usually a clans name only changed after it was defeated and absorbed into another clan. But that's not what happened here.
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Bey Kahn
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Post by Bey Kahn on Aug 8, 2021 7:04:48 GMT -8
Quiet! Snapped Sloan, already playing the role of a powerful dictator. He took a step forwards on the dais and tilted his helmet down, fixing the front row of the crowd with an emotionless stare of his T-visor. He padded a hand on the beskad on his hip, a gentle reminder to everyone that he was more than capable of quelling any descent by the most lethal of means. He told them as much as well. Anyone who has a problem with that is welcome to challenge me, but that didn't work out so well for your last warlord. He he.
There was a mixture of fear and anger pheromones in the air. Sloan wouldn't know that but to Bey who was standing in the crowd amongst his clan, the scent was as obvious as the time of day. Gamorreans might have had notoriously bad eye-sight, but there sense of smell was quite remarkable. Bey himself could find a lone truffle in a field of poison mushrooms.
Sloan continued, disinterested if he was losing the crowd. We will start by fortifying the village. We're going to raise a wall, dig a trench, place platforms in the trees for archers. There is going to be a lot of work to do and everyone will be expected to pull their weight. This might not be how you did things in the past but through me you will have security like you have never had before. I will teach you how to make stronger weapons and how to use them properly. And together we will become the strongest clan on this god-forsaken forest of a planet. Whether you all like it or not.
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Bey Kahn
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Post by Bey Kahn on Aug 23, 2021 7:32:25 GMT -8
Almost overnight the little settlement of Porkswine Village, home to the newly christened Clan Skirata, transformed drastically as the villagers carried out the instructions of their new warlord. Thick chested boars swung axes from sunrise to sunset, felling trees in every direction around the village, clearing much of the nearby forest. Giant Pzobian oaks tumbled as they were cleaved from the stump, hitting the ground with a large crash. Younger boars helped to strip the bark from the trees and to carve them into large spikes to be fitted into the earth around the village. Those boars that weren't cutting down trees were deep in the mud with shovels, flinging wet dirt over their shoulders as they dug a trench around the perimeter of the palisade they were constructing. Sows, not yet trained for war, were sent out into the forest to forage. They took most of the children with them, the nimble hands of young porklings far better suited to plucking berries than swinging axes.
All the while Bey didn't participate, at least not directly. He stood next to Sloan, walked beside him, and pretty much traveled wherever the warlord went. This was not by his own choice. The Mandalorian had ordered Bey to follow him, continuously instructing the young boar on the finer points and reasoning for everything they were doing. Most of it went over his head, but some of the things he was saying were starting to make a lot of sense to the gamorrean, to the point where he wondered why some of these actions hadn't been instituted by his own father.
Sloan grinned behind his t-visor helmet, the facial gesture hidden to all save himself. Things were proceeding well, and it felt nice to have a foundling to teach. That was how he justified the decision to let the young gamorrean live. Bey wasn't just another member of this new clan he was forming, he was going to be an adoptive son. Whether he would seek vengeance for his father's death at some point would perhaps be determined, but for now it felt good to pass on the knowledge he had accumulating during the years of his life. It almost felt like this was something he had been missing. Family.
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Bey Kahn
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Post by Bey Kahn on Aug 28, 2021 5:08:05 GMT -8
Sloan oversaw while the gamorreans of the clan constructed a smithy. None of them had ever seen or heard of such a thing before so it was slow progress, with the Mandalorian having to basically walk them through every step. He cursed his luck for having crash landed on a planet with such a primitive population. Bey stood at his side, trying to wrap his tiny brain around what exactly they were doing.
The new warlord of the clan had promised this new building would elevate them above all the other clans in the forest. He even claimed it could produce shiny weapons like the ones he carried, like the one he had used to kill Bey Kahn's father. Personally the young boar didn't see what the problem was with the stone weapons and tools they already had, but then, he didn't really have anything to compare it to. The closest they had ever come to such a 'modern' weapon was the vibro-lance handed down from warlord to warlord. The very same vibro-lance that had belonged to his father, and now belonged to...
He looked over at Sloan and focused on the polearm slung over the outsider's back. There strapped to all that armour, next to the device that seem to let the human defy the laws of gravity, was the vibro-lance in question, otherwise known as the Pale Spear. Bey grit his tusks and quelled the rising tide of anger that was stoked in his belly, much like the flames that would soon be stoked in the forge they were building.
One day...
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Bey Kahn
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Post by Bey Kahn on Sept 10, 2021 5:14:04 GMT -8
It was barely a month since the smithy had been constructed and young Bey Kahn found that he was spending most days within the smoke filled room, watching Sloan transform ore into weapons and tools. Something about the fire excited his senses, even if it caused him to sweat profusely, leaving most days smelling like cooked bacon. His adoptive...father, as Sloan often referred to himself as, had even let the young boar take a few swings with a smithing hammer, allowing him to beat a piece of heated iron into a half descent breastplate.This sort of work suited him, he found. His fingers were already thickening and becoming poorly suited for nimbler work, but beating metal with a hammer until his arm went numb? Yeah, he could do that all day. He'd never be a fine crafter, or so he thought, but he could become a relatively adept...what was the name Sloan had said? Blacksmith? Sure, that sounded right. He could become a adept blacksmith.Soon he found his list of chores growing exponentially. Sloan had him crafting arrow heads and spear tips, enough to arm the war boars of the tribe. It seemed the Mandalorian had them gearing up for something big, certainly something more than just defense. He had no doubt that they would soon be challenging another clan in the forest. It's what the old warlord, Greer Kahn, would have done had he still been in charge. Actually, if Pa were still alive they probably would have already launched a raid on a nearby clan and suffered casualties as a result. But with these new weapons and armour they might not lose anyone. Bey took it as a personal challenge, putting everything he had into making the best equipment for the clan.Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! With every beat of the hammer, a little bit of that anger and resentment he felt towards Sloan began to wane, almost acting as a form of therapy for the troubled youth.
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Bey Kahn
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Post by Bey Kahn on Sept 26, 2021 8:05:46 GMT -8
Days turned into weeks, weeks to months, and finally months to years. Where once there had been a small porkling, now stood a young Gamorrean boar nearing full maturity. His muscles had grown large thanks to the countless hours he had spent in the smithy, transforming the iron ore the clan was mining from the caves near the riverbed into weapons of expert craft. His earlier iterations were nothing like the art he was designing now. Before spear tips and axe blades had simply been functional. Now they all bore the mark of the clan and Bey's own personal signature, gilded with whatever shiny materials the boars could mine and the sows could gather. He was as tall as his late father now, the former warlord Greer Kahn, and far more thick. Along with his size his appetite had grown too, giving him something of a belly that would weaken the legs of many a sow. He had taken to wearing a large apron at all times, over his furry britches and hide tunic. The thick material was covered in soot and burned in a number of places, giving the young gamorrean a permanent odor of sizzling bacon.
As Bey got older and stronger, his adoptive father Sloan Skirata got older as well, and weaker. The human's hair had thinned considerably and turned from a jet black to a faded grey. He moved slower than before, still deadly as a veteran, but gone was the virility that came with youth. The primitive forest lifestyle of the Gamorrean clans had kept him active, but time weathered all eventually.
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Bey Kahn
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Post by Bey Kahn on Nov 5, 2021 5:55:48 GMT -8
It was strange how time changed things. Once upon a time, Bey Kahn swore revenge upon Sloan for killing his birth father, Greer, bidding his time for the perfect moment. Only it never came. As the years went by, he found that same anger in his heart had softened, becoming something else entirely. He didn't hate the Mandalorian, if anything Sloan had proven himself to be a better father than Greer had ever been. He taught the young gamorrean how to fight, took him on hunts, and instructed him on the secrets of steel. Hell, Bey had even taken to calling the outsider 'Pa', because honestly, that's how he felt about him. There were none of the beatings that came with disobedience or when Greer Kahn had gotten drunk and was looking for someone to pick on. Sloan always kept some measure of control, even when he was deep in his own cups. Suffice it to say, young Bey Kahn was happy, probably for the first time in his life. He had purpose as the blacksmith of Porkswine village.
One day when working the forge, Sloan came to him. The human was beginning to look somewhat frail, his skin liver spotted and his scalp barely containing more than a few strands of white hair. He was ill, Bey could smell the sickness on him, but there wasn't much to be done about it. Despite the ministrations of the village shaman, Sloan's condition was beyond their primitive medicine to cure.
His father carried something bound in hide-cloth, about the size of the beskad that was missing from its sheath on his hip. Bey looked curiously at the package and then squealed away in his native tongue.
"G'morning, Pa. What's that you got there?" He said, snorting in primitive Gamorrese.
Sloan smiled and extended the package to his adopted son, sweat beading on his brow after only being in the smithy for a few minutes now.
"A gift, my boy. Open it." He replied in basic, excited to see the young boar unwrap the gift.
By this point in time they were both fluent in each others language. Neither one could speak the other, but they had a full understanding of it.
Snorting in excitement, Bey took the gift and began to unwrap it. As the hide-cloth came free, he found himself holding a smithing hammer like the one he used at his forge. This one was different though, it had more of a silver sheen to it, beautifully polished. The gamorrean smiled as he gave it a few swings, noting how heavy it was compared to the hammer he was used to. There was something familiar he noticed about the tool of trade, something he had noticed before. Again he looked at Sloan's empty scabbard.
"Pa, where's your sword?" He squealed, putting the puzzle pieces together in his head.
"Eh." Said Sloan with a shrug. "It wasn't much use to me anymore. A good hammer though, that'll be far more handy to a young smith like you.
Bey Kahn didn't know whether to refuse the gift or cry. Instead he stepped forwards and wrapped his massive arms around the thin human and pulled his father against his chest, hugging him for all it was worth.
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